So much to do, so few spoons

I have been babbling a lot about community of late. This weekend I had another lesson in it. I always had disabled friends and average friends. But most of the time I live in the average world. I don’t quite comfortably fit the mold but I can scrunch here and twist my feet so they point straight and I can do it. And most of time partly out of necessity and partly out learned habit I twist myself into that mold.

There are exceptions. When I was in pre-school I was the only kid in my class with a normal IQ (as in the only one who did not have below average IQ). I never remember it being weird. I never remember struggling to explain myself. My best friend had Downs’ Syndrome, I didn’t know what that was then. But I have a picture of her that she gave to me when I moved to MD at the end of that year. I look at it now and know that she has Downs. I do remember knowing the answers to the questions a little more than my friends and loving recess (ironic I hated it in elementary school) and going on a field trip to the zoo.  My grandfather says I sang the following song when I left: I am sorry for myself/I am sorry for myself/I have to leave my school/I have to leave my friends/because that is what the navy is all about.

The other time was in Romania/Belarus and it really shouldn’t count. Because to truly live with the disabled in Romania would mean to check myself into an institution. But I lived a life of isolation in the sense my host family was terrified of letting me out the of house or leaving me without supervision. I ached for those children and for a few short months I endured the taunts, lack of access and opportunity they did. But not really because my experience was much more like a sociology experiment  than real life.

I have never though except in books and not even truly there sat around a table with other disabled people who wanted to pursue medicine. Much less were successfully in medical school.  It was surreal experience as we sat there with balsamic rice and hummus in a cafe in the middle of NC and squealed things like: “Are certain technical requirements really legal? and “I know was the only one in the room who was thinking ‘What a beautiful baby…’”…”Lesch Nhylan’s….” and “Patient or Medical Student…YES!” and “I am running out spoons.”  We spent the rest of the night pulling books off the shelves and even though we barley knew each other (as in had only previously met online) shared intensely personal fears, life experiences and frustrations. It was amazing and intense all at the same time.

I feel almost guilty for how good I have it. Not only did get into medical school without any major legal or moral battles. I am also at Wake which is far from perfect but at least has an administration whose attitude toward disabilities is sane and mostly helpful/harmless. Furthermore I have two older students who have already invented the wheel. For example, thanks to a late night reconnaissance mission to the Duke Labor/Delivery floor, I have solved the surgery rotation problem nearly entirely (minus the staying up for 3 days straight part) with the simple addition of a modified stool.

There was a sense of urgency though running through the whole 48 hours. It is working for us, we are making it work. But what about everyone else?  We have at least a skeleton of a profession organization for disabled medical students/physicians. In time we might at least have an informative website something I desperately searched for last year.

At first, I was keenly aware of the awkwardness with two wheelchairs in my small not ideal car, my own air-headness and clumsiness and the general insanity that seems to follow disabled people when they get together. It was not shame or embarrassment just an awareness that I crossed the line from the average world to the disabled one. Perhaps from the land of doctor to the land of patient as Bethany is fond of saying. But as the two days wore on, I began to realize that despite all of quirks, complications and mishaps. These were my people and this was my calling to be among them and share this strange, insane medical world that we are traveling in. It was a bit like coming home. In the same way that when I see the  first hints of Blue Ridges in Southern Franklin Co, I am at peace with the world or when I walk into my two study/favorite nooks on the undergrad campus or when I am sitting at a coffee shop with BE and/or LK.

When it comes down to it, I think that is the bottom line about building and enjoying true community. It’s building a home for yourself and other weary travelers.